Overseas
by MCmondo
Summary: He doesn't usually like these trips. But, as he spends time in Barcelona with his partner, he knows this one has the potential to be an exception. T/Z on foreign soil.
1. Chapter 1

**This started out as a much shorter chapter for my 'Partners' piece, but then I fleshed it out into something completely unexpected. Not sure if it's any good, but I hope you like it.**

* * *

Overseas assignments were always a bit hit and miss for Tony. He either found them to be productive, educational and—dare he say—fun, or they could just as easily be a drag. It was usually the latter. He was never a fan of long flights or hopping between time zones. And that was before he even arrived at his destination. Some of the hell holes he'd stayed in over the years had made him homesick within minutes of being there. More often than not these hotel rooms would fail to provide a working air conditioning system, which either led to unbearable heat or unrelenting cold. He'd lost count of the number of sleepless nights he'd had as a result. He liked his American bed, his American food, and his American climate.

All in all, he didn't tend to enjoy travelling for work.

However, every now and then, there came a trip that he not only tolerated, but actively enjoyed. Of course, the location was a huge factor when it came to this. Another factor—perhaps an even more important one—was the company. He'd only been there for a few hours, but Tony could tell there were few places he liked more than Barcelona. And there was definitely no one he enjoyed spending time with more than his partner. He was convinced this was going to be one of the good trips.

The apartment they'd been provided with was perfect—not too small, but not too grand and fancy. They had their own kitchen and living area, and the balcony in the bedroom provided a stunning view of the docks. The famous Las Ramblas was only a minute away by foot, and the area seemed to have a constant buzz about it. Tony had to admit he was more than happy to be there. _And_ the air conditioning worked. What more could you ask for?

He returned from his restaurant scouting mission and found Ziva on the balcony. She was looking out over the docks, which were now glowing under the combination of the moon and the city lights. He gave himself a second to lean on the bedroom doorframe and take her in. She was wearing a summery white dress, which was light and pretty enough to make her look like the average tourist. He supposed that was what she had been aiming for. Her loose curls fluttered gently in the light breeze and he could see the corner of her mouth lifting slightly into a smile as she gazed at everything, and nothing. She was stunning. But what else did he expect? Spain looked good on her.

Out here, in the exotic heat, she was completely in her element.

''Beautiful,'' he commented.

If she was startled by his voice, she didn't show it. ''Yes. It is quite a city.''

He smiled to himself as he stepped onto the balcony beside her. ''I wasn't talking about the view.''

Her eyes flicked to his face, and he didn't need to look at her to see the small smile tugging at her mouth. ''That sounds like red-light behaviour to me, Tony,'' she accused teasingly, forcing his smile to grow wider briefly.

''Maybe,'' he conceded, before meeting her gaze and managing to hold it. ''But your eyes always give me the green light.''

She chuckled quietly as they stared at each other for longer than was probably necessary. After a few silent moments, they both turned to look out over the docks again. He was vaguely aware of her shoulder brushing against his—had she moved closer? —but didn't comment on it. In fact, as they watched the moonlight sparkle off the Mediterranean, he was happy to just have her with him. He would gladly indulge in the silence if she wanted him to.

''Any luck finding somewhere to eat?'' she asked after a few minutes.

He blinked his way out of his trance. ''Um, yeah. There's plenty to choose from.''

''I feel like a real, Catalonian seafood paella.''

''That shouldn't be too hard find,'' he told her. ''Seeing as we're in the capital of Catalonia.''

Suddenly, she reached over and gripped his arm with both of her hands. ''Have you tried one before?'' she asked him with wide eyes, which were now as urgent as they were warm.

He wasn't sure where her animation had come from, and frowned down at her inquisitive face. ''No,'' he answered carefully.

She groaned and threw her head back as her grip on his arm tightened. ''Oh, you must try it, Tony,'' she insisted. ''It is to die for. Provided you find a place that does it right, of course.''

He smiled slightly under his frown of amusement. ''Of course,'' he mimicked.

Her eyes narrowed. ''Are you making fun of me?''

''Would I ever do that to you?'' The sudden arching of her eyebrow was more than enough to answer that question. ''Okay, maybe I would. But I am definitely open to trying the paella,'' he ensured her. ''It seems to be high up on the list of Chef David's recommended meals.''

She winked at him. ''It's in the top ten.''

That forced a chuckle out of him. ''Well, in that case, my hands are tied.''

 **...**

They managed to find a beautiful little restaurant on the seafront. Their table overlooked the water, and it was just private and romantic enough for it to feel like a date. Tony couldn't help but treat it as one. Judging by the warmth in Ziva's expression and the way she frequently reached over to touch his hand, she was treating it the same way. Something about that made his chest warm. She kept touching him for no real reason, other than the fact she _wanted_ to. This wasn't a show being put on by undercover federal agents. No. This was simply two partners enjoying each other's company, tip-toeing around the line between simply being close friends and being, well, something more intimate. Tony was loving every second of it.

After they'd ordered a large seafood paella for two, Tony looked at someone eating one a few tables down. ''If I don't like it, it's your fault.''

She nodded simply. ''Deal.''

''I'm feeling sceptical,'' he told her, his eyes still scanning the large dish. He had to admit, though, it did look appetising.

''Don't,'' she ordered him, ''You will like it. Trust me.''

He turned back to see her smirking at him from behind her wine glass. ''When it comes to food, I always trust you, Little Miss Culinary.''

Her smile grew before she reeled it in. ''Only when it comes to food?''

He pretended to think about that. ''Well, maybe not only then.''

''I should hope not.''

He assured her he was kidding with warmth in his smile. ''I guess I trust you with other stuff, too,'' he reasoned.

''Like what?'' she asked innocently.

He knew this had the potential to get serious, and quickly, so he tried to keep it as light as possible. ''I trust you to book me the window seat on the plane,'' he began, forcing a snort out of her. He was happy to amuse her further. ''And to buy me the exact sandwich I want at lunchtime.''

''You usually ask for it specifically,'' she argued.

His grinned fully for a second, but then continued on. ''I trust you to stay quiet if I've played a prank on McGee,'' he said, mirroring her knowing look. ''And I trust you enough to be my drinking buddy—which is usually a mistake—and I— ''

''Why is it a mistake?'' she cut in with her mouth agape.

He raised both eyebrows her, daring her to argue his next point. ''Because we both go overboard and get into bar fights.''

Her eyes narrowed as she raised an accusing finger at him. ''That is always your fault!''

He smiled, only because he knew she would say that. And because it was true. ''That's wild conjecture, Agent David.''

''It is always you,'' she insists, ''and it is usually because some guy is googling me.''

He paused and stuck his tongue into his cheek. ''You definitely got that wrong on purpose.''

''It does not matter. You know I am right.''

Again, very true. ''Well, who can remember?''

She raised her eyebrows at him, clearly not buying it for a second, before releasing a throaty chuckle. ''My memories from those nights certainly tend to be a little…catchy,'' she admitted.

''Patchy.''

She clicked her fingers at him with a nod. ''Yes. I'm sure that is what I meant.''

He winked at her. ''I always know what you mean.''

She narrowed her eyes for him playfully, before taking another sip of her wine. ''That is another thing you trust me with, yes?'' She said after a few quiet moments. ''Having your back in bar fights.''

''Yeah, I guess it is,'' he agreed with a tilt of his head. ''And fights in general, really.''

''Gunfights,'' she offered.

This time, though, there was a far sincerer underlying tone in her voice. The air turned serious suddenly, and they both looked at each other with much less playful expressions. He wasn't really willing to delve further into this trust thing if it meant bringing up life and death, and he was pretty sure Ziva wasn't, either. So he simply took a healthy swig of his wine, and placed it back on the table with a nod.

''Yeah,'' he acknowledged eventually, ''So, in summary, I pretty much trust you with everything.''

She smiled again, and the atmosphere shifted back to the warm and fuzzy again. ''Except driving you around,'' she said with a brief raise of her eyebrow.

He couldn't help but laugh. ''Yeah. That's a bridge too far, Ziva.''

''Perhaps we can work on that.''

He scoffed as he shook his head. ''You work on your driving first, then we'll talk.''

She shrugged. ''I thought men liked women and fast cars,'' she said with a blank expression. ''I am the full parcel.''

''Package,'' he corrected, ''And, yes, we like women and fast cars, but not when the combination leads to a fatal accident.''

She pointed to herself. ''I am still here, aren't I?''

''You're lucky to be,'' he shot back, without really thinking.

Her face fell slightly, and he cursed himself for steering the Easy Banter Ship into dark and serious territory again. He moved to quickly diffuse the situation by keeping the conversation ticking over, but it appeared that Ziva had the same plan, and, as always, she was much quicker than him.

''What time are we meeting the Rota team tomorrow?'' she asked him for the second time that day.

Good, work talk. It wasn't as fun—or intimate—but it was far safer than where they were headed. ''Ten o'clock, by the big cathedral thing that they still haven't finished building,'' he informed her, though he was pretty sure she remembered. He wasn't sure why the name of Gaudi's last project kept escaping him.

''Sagrada Familia.''

That was the one. '' _Sagrada Familia_ ,'' he repeated to himself. ''I knew it was in there somewhere.''

''In where?''

Her confusion confused _him_ for a second. ''My brain.''

''Well I would have thought there was plenty of room in there for it,'' she deadpanned.

Classic Ziva, but also predictable. ''Ouch.''

She chuckled at him, her eyes showing nothing but fondness. ''Aw,'' she said as she leaned forward and caressed the top of his hand again. The touch made his whole body tingle. ''That was mean. I am sorry.''

He turned his hand to gently nudge her fingers with his. ''Never apologise,'' he reminded her.

''I felt bad.''

He did his best Gibbs impersonation. ''It's a sign of weakness.''

She snorted. ''Well, then perhaps you are my biggest weakness, Tony.''

His smile fell, despite his best efforts, and he found himself speechless. They really couldn't stay away from the serious territory these days, could they? Well, that was if Ziva was even being serious. Her eyes suggested she was, but she didn't look like she regretted her words this time. Far from it. In fact, she held his gaze and practically _signalled_ that she meant every word. He wasn't sure whether to feel flattered, excited or scared. It kind of felt like a mixture of the three. Now he just had to decide whether to play it cool or return the honesty.

He went for cool—well, as cool as he could be—and sent her a knowing smile. ''Is that your way of calling me a liability, Ziva?''

She took it as seriously as he meant it to be, and that was one hell of a relief.

''In the field?'' she asked after a chuckle.

''Anywhere,'' he clarified.

She clicked her tongue a few times as she looked at him and thought it over. ''You can be quite distracting,'' she began.

''I have that effect on most women.''

She rolled her eyes. ''But I would not say you are a liability.''

He sent her a mock frown. ''I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.''

She snorted into her wine glass. ''Yes. And that is all you're getting.''

''I will happily take it,'' he assured her.

She smirked again and took another sip, and Tony briefly acknowledged the happiness he felt whenever he got to spend time with Ziva like this. When they could both relax, be themselves and let their hair down, so to speak. He always loved seeing her like this, in a happy and playful mood and clearly enjoying him as much as he was enjoying her. He loved watching her speak Spanish and enjoying the warmer climate and wearing summery, bright dresses.

Hell, maybe he just loved her.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when she nudged his shin with her foot. ''You are ogling me again, Tony,'' she told him lightly.

He hadn't realised he was, but he was far less uncomfortable about admitting it than he used to be. ''You got it right,'' he praised with a proud smile. ''And it only took you, what, nearly nine years?''

She rewarded him with a wink, but before she could shoot a witty remark back at him, the waiters arrived with their meal. It was rather large, but it looked and smelled delicious, Tony was just about ready to devour it. Whether he liked it or not was irrelevant by now, he was simply starving. How had he not really noticed the hunger until somebody literally waved food in his face? Usually it would take something incredible to distract him from an empty stomach.

Then he remembered who he was with. He looked up from the food to see her gracefully thanking the waiters in Spanish, and he decided incredible didn't quite cut it.

 _Only Ziva._

 **...**

The food was delicious—what else did he expect from a meal straight out of Ziva's top ten list? —and the evening was perfect. They took a gentle stroll along the waterfront until fatigue got the better of them and they headed back to the apartment. He had almost forgotten that they'd only just flown in from the other side of the Atlantic, and the effects of such a leap were starting to weigh heavily on his eyes when he flopped down onto one of the couches. Ziva brushed her hand over his shoulder as she stepped past him and into the bedroom.

He felt completely stuffed, and little bit tipsy from the gorgeous wine they'd shared. ''I think I need to slip into a paella coma,'' he told her as he heard a suitcase unzip and a familiar chuckle.

''I know what you mean,'' she called back. ''But it was a nice meal, yes?''

He undid the first three buttons of his shirt and shuffled his butt around until he was fully comfortable. ''It was delicious,'' he agreed with a nod, ''but was it worth all the hype you created for it?''

''Were you not impressed?''

He knew she would probably jump to the defence of her precious paella—which was kind of why he threw the question out there in the first place—and, sure enough, she emerged in the doorway a few seconds later with a frown. At least, he assumed she was frowning, because his eyes weren't interested in her face, for once. She was wearing nothing but her bra and panties, and although he knew she was simply mid-changed and not trying to seduce him, he felt his blood run south before he could help himself. God, he was too tired for this.

She had clearly noticed his shameless ogling, if her smirk was anything to go by. ''Tony?''

''Hm?''

He lifted his eyes to hers, and her smile grew. ''Were you not impressed?'' she repeated slowly.

He'd kind of lost his train of thought. ''Um, yes.''

''Then it was worth the—what did you call it?'' she gestured her confusion with a frown and her right hand. '' _Hype_?''

His eyes roamed over her half-naked body again before he could stop them. ''Oh, yeah. It's worth it.''

Her eyes narrowed with what looked like suspicion, before she let it go and nodded with satisfaction. ''I am glad,'' she said as she disappeared back into the bedroom.

He almost groaned when she left his field of vision, but managed to blink his way out of his naughty and inappropriate day dream—even though it was technically night time—and tried to find something else to occupy his mind. He picked up the remote lying on the table in front of him and turned the TV on with it. All the screen showcased was static, on every channel, and he had to laugh to himself. He should have known this apartment was too good to be true. He heard his partner's distant voice again as he kept pointlessly flicking through the channels.

''What are you chuckling to yourself about?''

He scoffed inwardly. ''There's always something.''

Footsteps gradually grew louder as she glided across the room to the doorway again. ''There is always something what?'' she asked, clearly not following.

He gestured to the TV with the remote. ''No channels,'' he informed her helpfully.

Even from behind him, her confused expression was clear as day. ''Why does that mean there is always something?''

He turned the TV off again and leaned back on the couch to rest his eyes. ''Because,'' he began to explain on a yawn, ''there's always something wrong with the places we stay. No air conditioning, broken shower, noisy sex neighbours, only one bed, that sort of thing.'' Another yawn escaped him as he opened his eyes again to stare at the ceiling. ''I thought this place was perfect.''

''I am sorry for your loss,'' she drawled.

He shrugged it off. ''Every channel probably only has soccer on it, anyway.''

''I would not call it that over here,'' she warned, and he felt the couch dip beside him as she sat down. ''They will probably stab you with a beer bottle.''

He frowned at the ceiling. ''For saying soccer? I thought it was only the British who got mad about that.''

He felt her shrug against his shoulder. ''Football is practically a religion over here.''

''In Europe? Yeah, I noticed.''

She nodded. ''Yes, but Spain in particular.''

He grunted. ''I wonder who they pray to.''

Her chuckle never failed to warm his heart. ''It is probably Messi,'' she said.

''Well, I guess every religion has the potential to make things messy,'' he agreed with a tilt of his head, ''but I don't get the fuss over soccer.''

She turned her head to him and he could feel her smile. ''No, I mean they probably pray to Messi,'' she clarified. ''As in _Lionel_ Messi, the soccer player.''

''Huh,'' he grunted, ''I've actually heard of that guy.''

''There was a rather large poster of him at the airport.''

He frowned to himself again. ''How do you achieve a God-like status by being good at kicking an inflated piece of leather?''

''I am not sure,'' she answers. ''He is quite good at it, though, from what I hear.''

He turned to look at her. ''So, the Spanish practice the religion of Soccer,'' he began to summarise.

'' _Futbol_ ,'' she corrected.

He nodded. ''Right. And the God of this sport-themed religion is a guy called Messi.''

''Yes,'' she confirmed, ''In this part of the country, anyway.''

He sent her a brief look of affection. ''You never fail to educate me in the ways of foreign cultures, Zee-vah.''

''Someone has to,'' she deadpanned.

He narrowed his eyes at her. ''I'm going to try not to take offence.''

The sound of Ziva's responding chuckle made his stomach flutter, and he took some time to acknowledge what she was wearing since her swift wardrobe change. There wasn't much to it, really. She wasn't mostly naked anymore—he wasn't sure if he felt relieved or disappointed about that—but her legs were still on show. He didn't let his gaze linger there for too long, though, for the sake of his mental and physical health. Instead, he focused on the Ohio state t-shirt she was wearing. It was too big for her, but that didn't stop her completely owning the domestic 'girlfriend look'.

He swallowed as he felt his stomach flip. ''Comfortable?'' he asked her.

Her eyes widened slightly before she looked down at the shirt and pinched the bottom of it. ''I hope you do not mind,'' she said with a hint of anxiety. ''I can wear my own if you want.''

He'd heard that offer more times than he could count, because they had this conversation just about every time they travelled together. ''You know I don't mind, Ziva,'' he assured her with a smile he hoped would relax her again.

Her features softened again as she visibly let go of any unsure feelings. ''I love this shirt,'' she said quietly.

''I know.''

It was true, he did know. He loved the shirt, too, but it looked so much better on her. It was always the first thing he packed, just because he knew she would look for it at some point. And you could accuse him of having a caveman-like possessiveness over his partner—who _technically_ wasn't anything more—but he always adored the sight of her wearing it during the quieter, more intimate times of the evening. There was something distinctly domestic about it, and he had been surprised by how much he welcomed the feeling when he first had it. Nowadays, he was so used to it that it barely registered. Right here, though, in this romantic city thousands of miles away from the eyes of scrutiny, he felt a weight on his chest he couldn't ignore. He loved what he and Ziva already had, but he couldn't help but imagine what they _could_ have.

He longed for it.

She looked like she was his. He _wanted_ her to be his.

But she wasn't.

Was it time to try and change that?

''You are tired, Tony.''

He hadn't realised he'd been staring at her for the past… god knew how long, but it was too late to care about that. ''Yeah,'' he said brokenly, before clearing his throat. ''Yeah, well, you know me. Long flights are— '' he cut himself off to let out a heavy yawn, ''—getting harder to deal with in my advancing years.''

Ziva raised a warning eyebrow at him. '' _Advancing_ years?'' she repeated. ''Oh, Tony, please don't turn into one of those people who complain about ageing all the time.'' Her pleading made him frown. ''You are not _that_ old.''

He sniffed, and his mouth twitched slightly, but he avoided the smile threatening to surface. ''I never said old,'' he argued.

Her eyes narrowed for a split second. ''You implied it.''

''I imply a lot of things,'' he shrugged, ''But I don't always mean to.''

She let out a small _hmph_ in apparent disagreement. ''Oh, please.''

He half-smiled, half-frowned at her. ''What? I talk a lot, it happens sometimes.''

''You do talk a lot,'' she agreed with a finger-wag in his direction, ''but your implications—about anything related to sex, insults, or your age—are deliberate. I am certain of that.''

He played being hurt and grabbed her finger. ''You think you know me so well,'' he accused.

''I do.''

He couldn't help but smile at how true that was, and it only increased his longing.

Courage wasn't ever a trait he needed when conversing with Ziva. Usually. But Tony, with his mind being influenced by tiredness and wine-induced tipsiness, was suddenly feeling brave. He leaned closer to Ziva, so close that he actually felt a wayward curl brush against his cheek. She didn't retreat—Ziva David _never_ retreated—but he could see something shift in her eyes. They were like dark whirlpools trying to hypnotise him. A part of him acknowledged the way her hand had shifted so it was returning his grip, but the rest of him was already lost in her face.

''What do you think I'm implying,'' he said in a voice he barely recognised. It was quiet, soft, and seemed to make her breath catch, ''when I say that I really, _really_ like my shirt on you?''

Her eyes flicked to his mouth and back, and he could tell that she was trying to judge whether or not he was being serious. He was. Deadly serious, in fact, but he wasn't going to use words to tell her that. He needed her to see it in his eyes. He needed her to just _feel_ it, like he could feel her hesitation. He could tell when she'd made the decision because her gaze stopped shifting erratically in favour of holding firm. They were both lost in each other now, and a bomb could go off outside and Tony wouldn't have noticed.

When she does eventually answer, her voice is deeper, but no less confident. ''That depends.''

He ran his thumb over her knuckles. ''On what?''

The corner of her mouth lifted, but now she looked almost shy. ''On whether this is related to your age, sex or insulting someone.''

He smiled at her earlier words, but didn't let his focus waver. ''It's related to you. Plain and simple.''

Her gaze, again, flicked to his mouth and back. ''What about me?''

''Everything.''

She took a deep breath. ''In that case,'' she murmured, her face inching that tiniest bit closer, ''I think I like what you are implying.''

Well, it wasn't exactly a written invitation to kiss her, but it might as well have been. He let go of her hand to gently cup her cheek, and her eyes locked onto his mouth for much longer this time, so he closed the distance between them fully. The first touch was like an atom bomb. Something titanic exploded within him as his lips moved with hers, and the world shook as the chain reaction rippled through his veins. Ziva's quiet moan told him that this was having a similar impact on her. And, honestly, they could have been a million miles away from DC or right, smack-bang in the middle of it for all he cared, because she was home. He belonged here, with her, and it was an incredible feeling to finally know that for sure.

They would have to do some actual work over the next few days, which may well cause his mood and Spanish spirit to deteriorate, but he didn't mind. He liked Barcelona. He was feeling fairly confident that this trip would remain, all in all, a good one.

Ziva broke away from the kiss breathlessly, and he could see it in her eyes—he could just _see_ —what she wanted. And she was on her feet and pulling him into the bedroom before he even had time to feel proud about being able to read her so well. Or for the fact that his courageous move had paid off, (and then some).

In his t-shirt, she looked like she was his. Now he was going to show her what it meant to _truly_ be his.

Something tectonic had shifted in his life.

Yes, he definitely liked Barcelona.

* * *

 **Thoughts? I'm usually pretty happy with a piece as I'm writing it, but I can never be sure when it comes to upload time. Hope you liked it, though.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Say what? A second chapter! Yeah, well, it sort of just...happened.**

* * *

It was warm when he woke up. So warm, in fact, that his skin felt slimy with sweat. It was quite uncommon for him to awaken to this feeling, and it immediately reminded him that he was in Barcelona at the height of summer. That _would_ explain it. He tried to shift his position on the sheets, but his right arm was weighed down by Ziva, who was curled up against his side. His first reaction was to smile at the familiarity of her smell and messy hair. He wasn't going to lie, he was more than happy to wake up in this position, even if it only added to the heat. It made him feel oddly relaxed and content, as if this was exactly where his body wanted to be.

 _Hold on a second._

She was naked. _He_ was naked. They were more or less lying on top of each other, and they'd spent a large chunk of the previous night having, quite frankly, incredible sex.

Suddenly he didn't feel so relaxed any more, and Ziva must have sensed the new-found tension in the air because she shifted herself so she could look up at him. He couldn't really tell what her thoughts were on all this—at least not from her sleepy, yet mostly unreadable expression—so he gave her a small smile in hope that it would prevent any awkwardness. If the smile showcased even a fraction of the shy nerves he felt, then he knew it wouldn't work. He was relieved to see her return the gesture after a few more seconds of silence.

''Good morning,'' she said softly.

''Hola.''

Her smile grew for a split-second. ''What time is it?''

He shrugged against her. ''I don't know.''

A familiar smirk formed on her pretty face. ''That was your cue to check,'' she told him. ''My phone is out of reach.''

He grunted as he reached over to grab his pants from the floor beside their bed. ''I forgot how lazy you can be.''

She raised a single eyebrow. ''I had a very tiring night,'' she defended. ''I am running low on stamina.''

He reached into the pocket and retrieved his cell phone. ''I'm going to take that as a compliment.''

She chuckled huskily. ''As you should.''

His eyes left the phone screen as he sent her a look of mild surprise. So much for awkwardness. ''It's 0800,'' he informed her, finally addressing her enquiry. ''So we've only got a couple of hours to get up, showered, dressed and fed before we head to that Familiar place, thing.'' He looked back to her and wagged his eyebrows. ''So you better find that second wind, sweetcheeks.''

She groaned and stretched her arms above her head. ''I may struggle with the getting up part.''

''Me too,'' he agreed. ''Mainly because you've got me pinned down.''

She _hmphed._ ''Well, you did your fair share of pinning me down last night.''

His eyebrows shot up in momentary surprise. ''Ziva David, you're a naughty girl.''

''I think you said that at one point, too.''

He couldn't hold back the burst of laughter as his gaze returned to his phone to check his emails. ''We better get moving,'' he told her seriously after reading one from McGee.

She groaned again. ''Yes.''

''McGoo seems to think our suspect was spotted in the city yesterday.''

She turned her head to him and rested it on his shoulder. ''By whom?''

He shook his head. ''A subway camera.''

''It is the Metro here.''

''Whatever.''

She hummed softly. ''Well then, at least our trip may be worthwhile.''

Her words seemed heavier than anything else she'd said before that, and it forced his eyes to flick back to hers. She was looking at him with an open expression, effectively signalling her honesty, and he couldn't help but feel like she wasn't just talking about the case. He knew she wasn't thinking about it, anyway, and neither was he. Because, if he was honest with himself, he had already decided that this trip was _more_ than worth it from the moment he had first kissed her. No commitments had been made, and no promises either, but he couldn't help but feel like they'd both taken a huge step the night before. And it certainly felt like it was in the right direction.

''Yeah,'' he agreed on a sigh. ''It just might be.''

She smiled almost shyly for a moment, before stretching up to kiss his jaw. ''I need a shower.''

Ziva rolled off of him and emerged from under the sheets. She didn't bother covering herself up—which wasn't all that surprising, really—and he watched with shamelessly hungry eyes as her hips swayed slightly when she walked. Actually, it was more or less a strut towards the bathroom. She knew exactly what she was doing, and he had to bite back a groan as his eyes remained glued to her ass. He was a lucky man, that was for sure.

''Need any company?'' He asked hopefully.

She stopped in front of the bathroom door with a chuckle, and then bent over— _good God—_ to pick something up off the floor. He didn't see what it was, because his attention was being held by… other things, but now he was _certain_ she was doing this on purpose. Again, though, he wasn't that surprised.

''No,'' she answered as she stood back up. It turned out that she had picked up his (but, really, it was _her_ ) Ohio State t-shirt, and she gave him a knowing smirk before flinging it at him. ''What I need is breakfast.''

And with that, she disappeared into the bathroom. He was left smiling after her, feeling hopelessly smitten, if he was honest with himself, as well as completely relaxed again. He wasn't too sure why he was so relieved about the whole situation. He guessed that part of him—a quite big part, in fact—expected a slightly awkward, slightly regretful morning-after situation. He knew that an experience like that would have had the potential to spoil their partnership, or perhaps even scar it permanently, and that was the last thing he wanted. He expected she felt that way, too, hence her relaxed approach.

He wasn't sure what it all meant, or where they were going with this, but he had a good feeling about it.

Generally speaking, anyway.

 **...**

They had breakfast in the apartment. While Ziva showered, Tony went out and bought a selection of cold meats, as well as some fruit and crusty bread. It wasn't quite as substantial as their meal the night before, but it was certainly enough to restore some of the energy they spent on each other in bed. They avoided any serious discussion about their unprecedented activities, and Tony wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved about that. He also wasn't sure if Ziva was just going to treat it as a one-off bit of fun-having while they were overseas, or if she was more interested in making things more defined on a permanent basis.

Either option scared him.

The Rota team were nowhere near as close-knit as Team Gibbs, but they seemed perfectly capable and almost as thorough— (which was still perfectly sufficient). The day, as a whole, had been productive as far as Tony and Ziva were concerned, and they managed to collect a lot more information on their suspect than either of them expected, a plan of action had been formulated, and everyone had the feeling the whole case may be on the verge of being wrapped up. All in all, Tony's happiness remained intact.

They arrived back at the apartment at about five o'clock that evening and prepared for a video call to their boss. Tony grabbed his laptop from the suitcase and set it up on the table in front of the couch. He sorted out the Wi-Fi connection—which was far more complicated than he'd hoped—and then logged in to call McGee. He could hear Ziva rooting around in the bedroom as she, presumably, found something less formal to change into.

After a few moments of waiting, McGee's face appeared on the screen. '' _Hey, Tony_ ,'' he greeted.

''Timmy,'' Tony returned. ''Long time no see.''

McGee raised his eyebrows. '' _I drove you both to the airport. Yesterday_.''

''And I already miss that pale face of yours.''

He rolled his eyes. ' _'I don't think you miss anything. You've got that Vacation Look on your face.''_

Tony frowned. ''What Vacation look?''

'' _The one you get when you're enjoying yourself too much.''_

Tony scoffed in offence. ''I do not get that look.''

''Ha!'' He heard Ziva call from the bedroom. ''Yes, you do, Tony.''

He turned around and caught a glimpse of her hair as she flipped it out from under the t-shirt she had just put on. ''Don't take McJealousy's side.''

''I'm sorry, but it's true,'' she told him.

'' _Is that Ziva?''_

He turned back to the screen. ''No,'' he said sarcastically. ''It's her evil twin from Spain.''

'' _I'll take that as a yes.''_

''Evil?'' Ziva questioned from behind Tony.

He rolled his eyes. ''Take a note of the sarcasm, Ziva.''

''You did not seem to think I was evil last night,'' she said suggestively.

Tony's eyes widened slightly, and he noticed McGee giving him a suspicious look. '' _What did you guys do last night?''_

''Nothing,'' Tony answered, probably a little too quickly. ''We had a nice dinner.''

McGee's eyes narrowed as he looked beyond Tony's face towards the doorway behind it. _''Is there only one bed in that place?''_

Tony shrugged. ''Yeah.''

McGee smirked, knowing he was safe from any head slaps at that side of the Atlantic. _''You guys shared?''_

Tony could tell what he was implying from the tone. Even though he was technically right, there wasn't going to be any confirmation of that any time soon. Tony simply kept a serious face. ''Get your mind out of the McGutter, Tim,'' he said dismissively, just as Ziva entered the room and sat next to him. ''We're here to talk to Gibbs, not plant dirty pictures in your head.''

McGee tutted disappointedly. '' _You're no fun.''_

''I disagree,'' Tony said flatly.

'' _Hi, Ziva,''_ McGee nodded politely.

She smiled at the screen. ''Good morning, McGee.''

Tony's gaze flicked over her briefly, and he smiled to himself when he noticed that she was wearing his t-shirt again. Her shorts weren't tight, per se, but they were short enough to direct his attention to her beautifully tanned legs. All of a sudden, he didn't really care about his other colleague watching them from the webcam, because he was remembering what those legs felt like when they were locked around his hips, or held skyward against his shoulders. God, he was never going to be able to see any part of her bare skin again. Not if he wanted to get any work done.

'' _It hasn't been for me,''_ He heard McGee say in frustration. _''I got a speeding ticket on the way in.''_

That brought Tony's attention back to the screen. ''What?!''

Ziva's voice was laced with amusement when she spoke. '' _You_ did?''

McGee looked completely embarrassed. '' _I was only going five over the limit.''_

Tony tried his hardest to hold back a huge grin. ''Did you hit your head or something?''

Ziva snorted next to him. ''I find this hard to believe.''

''Have you been inspired by little miss NASCAR, here?''

Ziva's mouth fell open as McGee rolled his eyes. _''Very funny, Tony,''_ McGee said, unimpressed.

''What are you implying?'' Ziva asked him in shock.

He turned to her. ''You know exactly what I'm implying.''

Her eyes narrowed. ''I think I do. And I don't like it this time.''

He chuckled, before deciding to move the video-chat along before they started feeding McGee's suspicions even more. The younger agent looked slightly confused this time, but there was still something in his eyes that struck Tony as dangerously suspicious. ''Where is our fearless leader?'' Tony asked, trying to find a level of professionalism.

'' _Um...''_

'' _He's right here, DiNozzo,''_ Gibbs' voice cut in, and a second later his face was on the screen, too, as he leant over McGee's desk. _''What have you got?''_

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but Ziva beat him to it. ''The Rota team have intel that Petty Officer Carson will be meeting with someone at a nightclub tonight.''

'' _The dealer?''_ Gibbs asked.

''It could well be the supplier for the narcotics, yes,'' she nodded. ''We have no name or face to work with yet.''

'' _Then get one.''_

Gibbs' unreasonable tone was enough for Tony to come jumping to his partner's defence. ''We're working on it,'' he said sharply.

'' _Work faster,''_ Gibbs ordered typically. _''I don't want you out there on vacation all damn week.''_

Tony's eyes narrowed in anger. ''Hey! We're not exactly sight-seeing right now, boss. We've been working on this all day.''

Ziva sighed at their behaviour, and Tony just about caught McGee's wince. ''We are going in undercover tonight,'' she said calmly, trying to keep their minds in the right place. ''If we can get eyes and ears on this meeting, we may be able to make an arrest and fold this case up.''

'' _Wrap_ ,'' Tony and McGee both corrected, though Tony knew she got it wrong on purpose.

Gibbs' stern expression softened slightly as he nodded. '' _Okay. Good.''_

Tony nodded, too. ''Then it'll be back to sunbathing on the beach,'' he joked with a wink.

McGee sent him a warning look and Gibbs simply rolled his eyes. '' _Keep us posted,''_ he told them, before disappearing off camera.

McGee watched him go with a slightly frightened expression, and leant in towards the camera when Gibbs was supposedly out of ear-shot. _''He's been in that mood all day,''_ he murmured quietly. _''And yes, it is your fault.''_

Tony shrugged. ''I don't blame him, really,'' he said with a straight face. ''I mean, who _wouldn't_ miss me?''

He could practically _feel_ Ziva's eye roll, but he could also tell she was smirking, too. ''We will talk to you later, McGee,'' she said in an amused tone.

'' _Looking forward to it.''_

Tony hung up and closed the laptop. When his eyes travelled back to Ziva, she was gazing at him with a soft expression. He frowned at her in question, but she simply blinked slowly at him without saying anything, so he took the lead. ''Looks like we're getting closer.''

He was meant to be talking about the case, but it struck him that she could read his words completely differently. He wasn't sure how he'd play it if she thought he meant they were getting closer together as partners, or even closer to being in a relationship, so he kept a professional expression on his face in hope that she would understand his original meaning. Her eyes lacked any weight when she nodded, so he guessed that she was, indeed, thinking about the case.

''Yes,'' she agreed.

''Then it'll be the end of our little Spanish adventure.''

She nodded again. ''And the beginning of another long, transatlantic flight.''

His eyes went heavenward as he groaned. ''Don't remind me.''

She smiled, but it struck him as almost sad. ''Back to work,'' she added. ''Back to…normal.'' His gaze softened. Normal didn't sound so great. He didn't like normal, and her tone suggested she didn't either. ''I have to admit that I would like to spend more time here.''

He smiled. ''Me too.''

She sighed, and looked away from him. ''I like this,'' she stated quietly.

''What?''

''This,'' she said, gesturing between them. ''Us travelling together. It is fun.''

His eyes narrowed slightly, before a slow grin formed on his face. ''Are you talking about last night?''

She met his eyes again. ''Yes. It was nice.''

''Which part?''

This time it was her eyes that narrowed briefly as she smirked back. ''All of it. Though, some parts stand out more than others.''

He knew exactly what parts she was referring to, but didn't delve any deeper into it. ''I like this, too,'' he agreed sincerely. ''It would be nice to do this on our own time. You know? No work stuff.''

Her eyebrows rose and fell. ''You mean both of us? Together?''

He didn't want to make it sound like a bold gesture or proposition, so he went for a more casual answer. ''Well, I need someone cultured to educate me along the way, Miss David, otherwise what's the point?'' He gave her a wink, which forced another smirk out of her. ''Besides, you're good company.''

''I see,'' she said with a tilt of her head. ''I am curious, did you consider me good company before we had sex last night, or was it only afterwards?''

He would have been offended if it weren't for the lack of severity in her voice and expression. Instead, he simply grinned at her for a moment and pretended that he wasn't thrown off by her first direct reference to what they had done the night before. ''You were already great company in my eyes, but after last night you became the _best._ ''

She chuckled huskily. ''I am glad to know you enjoyed it.''

''Was there ever any doubt?''

She considered that for a moment, before leaning forward and patting his knee gently. ''I suppose not,'' she conceded. She then got to her feet and walked over to the kitchen area and opened the fridge. She emerged from it a moment later with a bottle of water, and took a few healthy gulps from it as her gaze fell back to him.

''You ready to dress up tonight?'' He asked her.

She twisted the lid back onto the bottle. ''I thought it was only a night club?''

''It's meant to be quite fancy, from what I hear.''

She frowned. ''Where did you hear?''

''Agent Marquez,'' he explained. ''I think he's the party animal of the Rota team. Their version of me, I guess.''

She snorted. ''You are joking, yes?''

''No,'' he said slowly.

Her smile grew. ''He is about fifteen years younger than you, Tony.''

''So?''

She started walking back to him. ''So, he is still just a young agent who likes to have some fun every weekend.''

Tony got to his feet and took the bottle of water from her. ''I think you just described me perfectly.''

She chuckled as he opened the bottle and took a sip. ''You were the one who complained about being old last night,'' she reminded him. ''And I am fairly certain you spend most Friday nights sat at your desk or asleep on your couch. You are no longer a party animal.''

He chucked the bottle onto the couch behind him, and took another step towards her. They were so close now that she had to tilt her head up to hold his gaze. ''I never said I was old,'' he argued. ''That was you.''

Her eyes gave him the slow once over. ''I don't think you're old.''

''Really?''

She nodded slowly, her eyes flicking all over him. ''Really,'' she confirmed. ''And you proved it to me in bed last night.''

He gave her a dirty smile as he brushed his fingertips along her hip. ''Maybe you just made me feel young again,'' he murmured, forcing a low chuckle out of her.

He wasn't sure how far he could take this, but her eyes were giving him silent permission, and when his hands roamed under the hem of her t-shirt and met bare skin, they fluttered shut. ''Hmm.''

He brushed her hair behind her ear and leaned down to kiss her. He was partly relieved when she returned it with more urgency than he expected, but the overriding feeling was excitement. It was just as electric as their first kiss the night before, and he wondered if that would always be the case with Ziva. He pulled back to see that her pupils had dilated, and suddenly he felt like he needed more water again. He swallowed. ''Have you recharged your batteries, Ziva?''

She kissed his jaw and then slowly started undoing the buttons on his shirt. ''How long do we have before the Op?'' she asked in a gravelly voice.

''Oh, we have time.'' He kissed her again. ''Lots of time.''

She moaned when his mouth moved to her neck. ''Good.''

 **...**

The club wasn't exactly fancy, as Tony had put it earlier, but it wasn't grimy, either. At this time of year, a lot of places would be heaving with extremely drunk tourists or travellers. This one struck Tony as more of a hidden gem. A place the locals treasured due to it being relatively untouched by the clammy hands of tourism. He actually quite liked it, even if it was more or less being run by the Spanish Scarface. Or so they suspected, anyway.

Ziva's flawless Spanish—as well as, Tony suspected, her flawless body in a tight little dress—got them into the place with nothing more than a look of scepticism towards Tony from the bouncers. His Spanish was pretty good too, though, so he didn't cause too much fuss. Once inside, they headed to the bar and gave the place a quick scan, taking in every door, emergency exit and suspicious looking face that they could see from that vantage point. There was no sign of their suspect, Carson, or any one that struck Tony as a drug kingpin. But, having said that, these people hardly jumped out and waved cocaine in your face. Not the smart ones, anyway.

Ziva was standing close to him, as she always did, but on this night it was slightly different. There was still an air of intimacy about their proximity, even as they were working. Her hand would brush his every now and then, or she would sometimes lean right into him as she spoke, her eyes projecting warmth and affection. Was it distracting? Considering what she was wearing, Tony would have to say yes, but that had been the case ever since he met her. No, this time it was more than mere distraction. They were almost sharing the very air they breathed, and they felt even more in-sync than usual. Even if the occasional memory of them having sex popped into his head with sporadic frequency.

If this was the start of a new phase of their partnership, he already liked it.

She leaned up to his face again as he rested his elbow on the bar, and her scent made him feel a little light-headed. God, he hadn't even ordered a drink yet. ''There is probably a back room somewhere,'' her smooth voice met his ears over the bass of the music. ''There is no way Carson would meet a supplier somewhere this open.''

He leaned right in to her ear so she could hear him easier. ''I agree. But we don't even know for sure that he's meeting a supplier.''

She tilted her head slightly, and his skin tingled when her hair brushed against his cheek. ''I don't think he would be allowed in for any other reason,'' she theorised.

His eyes were locked onto the exposed skin around her neck, and he resisted the urge to put his lips there. ''I wonder how good his Spanish is.''

''That is a good question.''

She pulled back from their little cosy conference, and he practically groaned at the new distance between them. He glanced at the bar and decided it would look suspicious if they kept standing still and whispering to each other without ordering anything. ''What are you drinking?'' He asked Ziva, gesturing behind him.

''Nothing at the moment,'' she misunderstood, her eyes scanning the crowd.

He suspected it was an attempt by her at dry humour. ''That was my point. What would you like to drink?''

She looked over her shoulder at him, blinked a few times as she looked him up and down, and smiled slightly—no doubt fully aware of how deliciously distracting she could be to him. ''Whatever you are having,'' she replied eventually.

He swallowed and tried to regain some focus. ''You know what I'm having.''

Her smile grew. ''Stirred, not shaken, yes?''

''Other way around.''

She scrunched her nose as her eyes swung back to the crowd on the dancefloor. ''Close enough.''

He ordered the drinks, and took a few moments to study his surroundings. He agreed with Ziva that any funny business would probably take place in a back room of some sort, and when he noticed a doorway being guarded by two bouncers right in the corner of the VIP area, he felt a sudden burst of professional excitement. He wouldn't say it made a nice change from all the other kinds of excitement he'd been feeling in Ziva's presence, but it was certainly a lot easier to deal with in a controlled manner.

He paid the bartender, and leaned towards Ziva again to hand her a Vodka Martini. He turned her around and leaned down to kiss her cheek, whispering in her ear afterwards. ''Your three o'clock.''

Her eyes flicked to his lips and back, before she glanced in the direction he was referring to. ''I see it.''

He leaned back and took a sip of his drink. ''Security's tight,'' he told her, though he was well aware she could see it for herself. He just wasn't sure how an ex-Mossad operative would describe it. He was sure she'd taken on more than her fair share of bouncers and security guards in her time.

''Yes,'' she agreed, much to his relief. ''I am not sure how we can get eyes in there.''

He thought it over, but then a vaguely familiar face appeared from the crowd as they headed to the bar. ''Maybe we don't have to.'' Her gaze flicked back to his, and he subtly gestured towards the man with his head. ''Carson's here.''

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to spot him. ''Hm,'' she said after a few seconds. ''He doesn't exactly blend in. He looks nervous.''

Tony nodded. ''Has he looked towards the VIP area at all?''

''Quite frequently.''

A plan formed in his head. ''You brought the bug, right?''

She looked at him with brief ridicule. ''Of course.''

He took her drink from her and turned around to place both glasses on the bar. When he turned back he leaned into her and ran both his hands down her sides to her hips. She seemed to shudder slightly at the contact, but he managed to keep his concentration. ''Hand it over,'' he said into her ear, placing a quick kiss to the skin below it.

He thought he heard a small, throaty sound leave her mouth, but she still reached into her bra and produced the small audio surveillance device. His eyes widened, and suddenly he was finding it hard to concentrate on anything but her again. She smirked at him, before leaning in to give him a long, lingering kiss as she slipped the bug into his hand. When she pulled back his head was positively spinning, and there was no way the few sips he'd taken of the Vodka Martini were to blame.

''What's the plan?'' She asked him, her breath tickling his jaw.

''I'm going to head to the men's room,'' he told her, forcing a small look of disgust to form on her face. ''But I can be pretty clumsy,'' he added with a wink. ''Who knows who I could bump into on the way.''

Her face morphed back into a sly grin. ''Okay. Watch your back.''

''That's what you're here for.''

She chuckled. ''Go.''

He gave her another wink, and then proceeded to walk in the direction of Carson. Luckily the suspect's back was to him, so as he got within a foot of him, he stumbled and bumped lightly into his back. He just about managed to activate the bug before he slipped it into the back pocket of Carson's baggy shorts, and immediately held up his hand in apology and swayed from side to side like a man who'd had a few too many drinks. Carson's look of surprise and panic was replaced by one of sheer irritation as he rolled his eyes and gently pushed Tony back to a safer distance.

''Lo siento,'' Tony slurred loudly. ''Lo siento.''

''Whatever, man,'' Carson said dismissively. ''Just get out of here.''

Tony gave him another wave of apology, before stumbling slightly as he headed towards the bathroom. When he got there, he went into a cubicle and closed the door. The smell was vile, and he could have sworn he heard someone puking a few stalls down, but he ignored it and pulled out his cell. He sent a quick text to Agent Marquez, who replied quickly to confirm that the bug had been successfully activated. Good. Now it was just a case of waiting for Carson to give the Rota team a good enough reason to storm the place and make an arrest.

He returned to find Ziva leaning against the bar as she stared aimlessly into the distance. Her expression struck him as strangely thoughtful, and he assumed that the reason she didn't have eyes on their suspect was because he was no longer in the same room. She noticed Tony's presence just as he leaned in to grab his drink. He could feel her questioning gaze as he took a sip, smirking slightly behind his cocktail glass.

''I take it your plan was a success,'' she said after a chuckle.

He shrugged. ''So far. Has he gone in the back?''

''Yes. So what do we do now?''

''We wait,'' he said, turning to face her again. ''And we dance.''

Her smile turned somewhat shy. ''You seem to always be looking for an excuse to dance with me.''

He put his drink back down and took her hand in his. ''I don't hear you complaining.''

''It is hard to hear anything in here.''

A warm laugh bubbled up from inside him. ''Come on,'' he pulled her towards the dancefloor. ''I want to feel you writhing against me.''

Her eyebrows raised. ''Again?''

''It's a shame that you'll have your clothes on this time, though.''

She gave him a throaty chuckle and leaned in to kiss his jaw and talk right into his ear. ''If you're good, I will not have them on for long.''

He practically growled grabbed her hips to pull her closer. They started dancing like that, with their bodies fitted perfectly against each other and their cheeks brushing. His light headedness returned quickly, but he didn't care this time. They were done with work, for now, and it was time for play. It was time to enjoy his partner again, and as she moved her body against his, he would gladly admit enjoyment was just one of many feelings he was having.

As if on cue, the music slowed and a far more romantic, slow song started playing. All of a sudden, the crowd on the dancefloor thinned out and consisted of mostly couples sharing a dance. Ziva arms went around Tony's neck, and she leaned back slightly so she could gaze up at him. He was immediately—and hopelessly—lost in her eyes, and they started slowly swaying with the music as if it was the most natural thing in the world to them. And, seriously, Tony was struggling to think of anything that came more naturally to him than being like this with her. The privacy, the intimacy. It was probably when he was at his happiest. Hell, it _definitely_ was.

A small part of his conscience reminded him that this could all very well end when they got back home. That either of them could decide to return to normalcy, and take the safer route in terms of their professional lives. But that part was being suppressed by the overwhelming feeling of warmth he had in his chest. For now, anyway.

Ziva, too, seemed happy enough to get lost in this new little world they'd found themselves in. Her face was open and soft, and her gaze was heavily laden with affection and—dare he say—love. It was a strong word, love, and one he knew they weren't quite ready to use. But, in his heart, he was all too aware that, as strong a word as it was, it may still have been too weak to describe how he felt about Ziva. Hell, maybe he shouldn't have been over-thinking it. Maybe it was best for both of them if he just went with the flow, and followed her lead.

She blinked up at him dreamily then, and he couldn't help but be brought back to Berlin. It was during a really difficult time of her life, and a really pivotal and confusing part of their relationship. Despite all that, he remembered the way she looked at him when they'd last danced like this in a foreign city. It was similar to how she looked at him now, with the warmth and affection as clear as day. Only there was something significantly different. In Berlin, there was hesitation in her eyes. Trepidation. It was as if she was trying to make an important decision about something. Maybe about him. It was a look he'd seen many times before then, and even more times afterwards.

But here, on this trip that may have changed both their lives for good, it looked like she'd finally made the decision. And whatever her choice was had his heartrate spiking dangerously in his chest.

She moved a hand to his cheek, and her thumb gently brushing against his lips made his eyes flutter closed for a second. When she stretched up to kiss him, he was already meeting her halfway. And, for some reason, this kiss felt far more important than any of the ones before it. There was no lust here. There was no animalistic desire. It was soft and deliberate and heart-stopping. It felt like an unspoken commitment, an unspoken pact between them. It was so incredible, in fact, that Tony decided there and then that love definitely wasn't a strong enough word. He wasn't sure anything was.

He rested his forehead against hers after the kiss, and her eyes closed. He could just about hear her hum on an exhale, and he let out a dreamy sigh of his own.

''I need you.''

His words seemed to surprise her. And he wasn't that shocked, really, because they kind of surprised him, too—as true as they might have been. Her eyes opened again as she stared right into the depths of his soul. He could have sworn they had grown dangerously glassy, and he briefly wondered whether that had happened before or after his heartfelt outburst. It didn't matter either way because he knew what it meant. It meant she heard what he was really saying.

She brushed her forehead across his chin as her hand slid down to rest on his chest, right over the organ she pretty much owned by this stage. ''That may be dangerous for your health, you know.''

That forced a smile out of him, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. ''I've survived so far.''

A hand gripped his shirt, and she nuzzled his neck to bring her mouth closer to his ear. ''Let's get out of here.''

He nodded against her. ''We may not have a choice.''

She pulled back with a slightly confused expression, but when she followed his gaze to the entrance, she raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. ''Oh,'' she exclaimed. ''That was fast.''

They both watched as a team consisting partially of the Barcelona police force and partially of NCIS Rota swept across the club. They were waving badges and telling people to leave, and Tony felt himself grin at a job well done. Ziva seemed to have the same reaction, just before the lights came on and the music stopped abruptly. Tony blinked as his eyes adjusted to the brightness, and when they came back into focus Agent Angela Johnson, the Rota team leader, was standing right in front of them.

''Good work, you two. Wow, Agent David, you look stunning.''

Ziva stepped ever so slightly away from Tony. ''Thank you. It is quite uncomfortable, though.''

''I bet.''

''Did Carson incriminate himself?'' Tony asked.

Johnson nodded. ''Yep. Almost immediately. He unwillingly screwed the supplier over, too.''

Tony chuckled. ''Good. I assume we'll be taking custody of this Class-Z criminal?''

She nodded. ''Carson will be on a plane back to D.C first thing tomorrow. You get him, Barca police get the supplier, everybody's happy.''

Ziva glanced up at Tony briefly with a sparkle in her eye, before giving their colleague a polite smile. ''Thank you for all the help, Agent Johnson.''

''Call me Ang,'' Johnson insisted. ''And it's really me who should be thanking you guys.''

''It was nothing, really,'' Ziva ensured her.

''Just doing our jobs,'' Tony added.

Ang looked between them both, and a somewhat knowing expression formed on her face. ''Gibbs should be proud of you two,'' she told them. ''Say hi to him for me, will you?''

Ziva nodded politely. ''We will.''

She shook both their hands and left them alone in the middle of the empty dancefloor. After a few moments of looking around, and watching Carson get dragged out in cuffs, along with four other very angry looking men, Ziva looked back up to Tony. He gave her an intimate smile, which successfully softened her gaze.

''You said something about getting out of here?''

Her eyes flicked to his lips. ''I did.''

''Then lead the way, _mon Ziva_.''

 **...**

Tony called McGee when they got back to the apartment, and was therefore indirectly ordered by Gibbs to get his butt on the next plane home. Tony reluctantly agreed to this, and had just hung up and chucked his phone onto the kitchenette table when Ziva stepped out of the bedroom doorway. She must have seen the look of disappointment on his face, because she seemed to mirror the look after a few moments.

''So?''

He sighed. ''We'll be heading back tomorrow morning.''

''I see,'' she said quietly.

''Maybe even on the same flight as Carson.''

She sighed, before nodding slowly. ''I suppose it has been a success.''

''Yeah,'' he breathed, then leaned against the counter and looked around the apartment. ''You know what? We've only been here two nights, but I think I'm really going to miss this place.''

She took a few steps towards him with a nod. ''I know I will.''

He pushed himself off the counter and approached her. ''Maybe we should make the most of Barcelona while we still can,'' he suggested.

She closed the distance between them and ran her hand along his shoulder. ''Yes.''

He swallowed hard, knowing full well that his next statement could break his own heart. ''And, honestly, I don't think the city's the only thing I'm going to miss when things go back to normal.'' He emphasised his words by using his eyes, trying to tell her what he was really getting at. As he expected—as he _always_ expected—she understood.

Her face melted as she leaned in to kiss him softly. ''Then perhaps we should make the most of each other, as well,'' she murmured against his lips.

It was what he wanted to hear, but at the same time it wasn't. He still kissed her greedily, though. And he still pulled her into the bedroom and peeled her out of her dress. He still devoured her, loved her, and made her cry out his name long into the night. He still let himself be tortured by the fact that he may not get to do this with her again, and he still forced himself not to care so he could focus on memorising every inch of her.

Maybe a part of him still had hope that it wouldn't have to go back to 'normal' when they got home. If that was the case, then he was going to try and use his actions to convince her, too.

* * *

 **There will probs be a 3rd chapter, so I hope you like it so far. Thanks for reading guys**


	3. Chapter 3

**Voila! Probably the last chapter, though. Hope ya'll like it**

* * *

The airport was busy. And noisy. And full of loud, annoying people whose company Tony found far from enjoyable. After about an hour of being in close proximity to what must have been half of Europe, he was hot, sweaty and fed up. It had started off okay—he had checked himself and Ziva in for their flight online the previous evening, and therefore could allow himself a smug smile as they got to walk past the huge line he'd spared them from by doing so. He wasn't smiling for long, though. Security was as slow as Christmas, and the airport staff didn't seem too determined to try and speed things along. By the time he'd reunited his phone, belt and wallet with his pants after they'd gone through the x-ray machine, he _really_ didn't appreciate the hot climate and the slow-moving crowds.

And they weren't the only things he didn't appreciate.

For example, he didn't appreciate the fact that Ziva had barely said a word to him since they'd untangled themselves and got out of bed that morning. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much. There were times—quite regular times, in fact—when they were both more than happy to indulge in comfortable silence. It could often go on for hours, but it never made Tony's chest hurt quite like this. Because this wasn't comfortable. And usually their silence wasn't directly related to them spending two nights sleeping together in a foreign city. He wasn't sure if the pain was being inflicted by the fact that his worst fears about a potentially broken partnership were coming true, or by any regret he may have felt over sleeping with her in the first place.

Oh, who was he kidding? He could never bring himself to regret what they had done. _Any_ of it.

When they had woken up together that morning, it had been much like the previous wake-up. Ziva gave him that smile that never failed to melt his bones, shared a heart-stopping kiss, and then left him in bed as she jumped in the shower. It had all given him a good reason to feel hopeful. But his initial relief didn't last. Once they'd left the apartment, all gestures of open affection seemed to abruptly cease. He wasn't sure whether it was mutual or not. He also wasn't sure whether he should be mad at her or not.

''Tony?''

Ziva's voice effectively woke him from his day-dream, and he looked to his right to see her sighing heavily at the large screens above them. She looked more irritated than anything else, and he briefly wondered if he was the source of said irritation. That wouldn't make much sense, though. Because, despite how much he was hating this day so far, he was at least seventy percent sure he hadn't complained out loud even once. Ziva must have sensed his internal musings, because after a small frown she gestured to the screens.

He looked up and squinted at the information being provided. Their flight to Dulles was up there, but the departure time had been replaced by the word every traveller dreaded reading. ''Delayed?''

Ziva's shoulders slumped slightly as she let out a Hebrew curse under her breath.

''I'm really starting to hate today,'' Tony said in defeat.

Ziva looked around them with an expression that matched his tone. ''Four hours stuck in this terminal.''

Tony eyes went heavenward. ''In this heat.''

''With these people.''

He dropped down heavily onto a nearby seat with a groan. He had to admit, it was a relief to take the weight off his legs. He was still full of dread, though, and now not just about the state of his relationship with Ziva. ''I think me and Barcelona are going to have a falling out,'' he told her.

She looked down at him briefly, before her eyes flicked to seat next to him. It looked as though she was tempted to sit down, too. They'd both been on their feet all morning, after all. Instead of joining him, however, she just let out another sigh and gave the terminal another quick scan. Tony, once again, tried his best to ignore how aloof she was being towards him, but failed miserably. His heart clenched again as he reached into his pocket for his cell phone. He was mid-way through his e-mail to McGee about their delayed flight when he heard Ziva's quiet voice again.

''I need a coffee. Do you want one?''

He glanced up at her for a second before returning to his phone. ''Hm?''

''Coffee,'' she repeated more slowly. ''Do you want one?''

He hit send. ''I wouldn't mind an OJ or something, actually.''

''What is OJ?''

When he looked up, his heart squeezed with affection at her familiar frown of confusion. He felt himself long for her again. ''Orange juice, Ziva,'' he explained with a hint of amusement. ''I think I'll save the coffee for the third hour of Terminal Time.''

A hint of a smile pulled at Ziva's lips, but only a hint. God, he missed her full smile. ''And what about breakfast?''

He shrugged and looked around for any decent looking food stalls. ''Haven't really thought about it.''

''I think I am hungry enough to eat now. I do not know about you.''

The words barely registered. He was too busy people watching now, and Ziva's voice was barely louder than all the noise in the background. He could see couples wherever he looked, and couldn't help but wonder if the world was putting its middle finger up at him by shoving all the happiness and love in his face. The worst thing was that they all acted much like he and Ziva usually did. With the close proximity, the warm smiles and the clear comfort in each other's presence. The only difference was that these couples were fully established, (he guessed), and were more than willing to show it in public, with no scrutiny or complications to worry about. He couldn't help but envy that. Why couldn't he and Ziva be like that? Tony certainly liked the idea of it, but he couldn't even begin to guess what her thoughts were on the matter.

Well, maybe he could guess. And that was probably why he felt so numb.

The voice of his troubles rose above the background noise again. ''Are you still with me?''

He blinked his way out of his own head, but couldn't bring himself to look at her. What was she asking about again? Oh yeah, something about coffee. And maybe food. ''Sure,'' he gambled. ''Whatever you want.''

Another sigh escaped her mouth. ''Tony…''

Frustration dripped from her tone, and when he eventually looked back up at her there was an exhausted look on her face. It was as if she was tired of dealing with this painful charade. Maybe she really was irritated with him, after all, because she was sending out a vibe that immediately made him feel guilty.

''What?'' he dared to ask.

She looked desperately sad for a split-second, and it kind of made him want to hug her. What the hell was wrong with him? What the hell was wrong _them_?

''I do not…'' she began, holding his gaze for long enough him to see the pain in her eyes. But whatever she was going to say never came out. All she managed was another sigh. ''I am going to go for a wander.'' She dropped her suitcase in front of him. ''Could you watch my bags?''

He frowned at her for the briefest of moments, but thought better than to try and decipher her mood any further. ''Sure,'' he said as lightly as he could.

She simply gave him a nod and turned to walk away without so much as a smile. After watching her retreating form disappear into the crowd, Tony's head fell back as he stared up at the ceiling in despair. If this was what it would be like for them from this point onwards, then he maybe he really would start regretting their weekend of loving. Because, honestly, what they had before was far better than this.

 **...**

Hours later, when they were finally in the air, Tony's spirits hadn't exactly been lifted. Ziva was glued to her book and he was pretending to be glued to the in-flight movie. He could probably count the number of sentences they'd spoken to each other on one hand, which was just one of the reasons why he was finding it hard to laugh at the supposed comedy he was watching. Another reason was that it simply wasn't funny.

He decided to give up on the film, and instead looked out of the window to his left. A fluffy carpet of clouds stretched on for an eternity below the plane, and he knew that thousands of feet below them was the choppy and unforgiving surface of the Atlantic. He tried to remember what his mood had been when he last saw this, back when they'd been travelling in the opposite direction a few days before. He was fairly certain it had been much more cheerful than this, and he was completely certain that his partner still had great fondness and affection for him back then. If only he could turn back time.

When he'd first kissed her in the Barcelona apartment, he thought their partnership had successfully emerged from the cloudiness and into the clear. He hoped that they were both pulling in the right direction for the first time in their relationship. He really, really thought they were ready. As they hurtled back towards the American East coast, though, it felt more like they'd escaped the cloudy sky only to plummet into the cold ocean of reality below them. Would they sink or swim? Tony didn't want to answer that.

Of course, it didn't help that neither of them seemed willing to talk about it.

After a few minutes, he felt Ziva's head drop against his shoulder. His mildly surprised frown at that occurrence morphed into a fond smile when he saw that she'd abandoned the book in favour of taking a nap. It was the first time since they'd woken up together that her face looked peaceful—even if she went through spells of inconceivably loud snoring. His heart panged for the hundredth time, and he reached over to gently brush he hair behind her ear before he was really aware of what he was doing. After a few deep inhales of her all-too familiar scent, he found himself feeling just a little less depressed.

A pretty young air stewardess arrived about an hour later and looked at Ziva's sleeping face, before sending Tony a knowing smile. ''Everything okay for you guys?'' she asked quietly.

''Yeah,'' he replied with a polite smile. ''It's all good, thanks.''

She nodded, seemingly happy to hear that. ''Can I get you anything?'' she offered. ''A drink, or maybe something to snack on?''

Tony shook his head carefully, not wanting to disturb his partner's sleep. ''I'll be okay.''

''And what about your wife?''

Despite being momentarily taken aback by the assumption that he and Ziva were married, he took a moment to consider the question. He knew from experience that you could get a hell of a dry mouth after taking a nap on a plane. ''I think she might appreciate a bottle of water, actually,'' he told the stewardess, not bothering to correct her about the whole wife thing.

Her smile grew. ''That snoring must dry the throat out a bit, huh?''

Tony chuckled softly, giving Ziva's face another fond look. ''She can be a little cranky when she wakes up. The least I can do is make sure she's not cranky _and_ thirsty.''

''And the most you can do is lift her mood, too.''

His smile fell slightly, and his heart sank again. ''I don't know about that,'' he said. He couldn't even force a smile out of her today.

The stewardess seemed to think he was joking—which was probably for the best, really—and let out a quiet laugh. ''I'll grab you that water,'' she said as she started to walk away.

''Thanks.''

It was another half hour before he heard something from Ziva other than her snores, but she still didn't seem to be awake. He looked up from his magazine when he heard some incoherent mumblings. Even in her sleep, a distressed frown creased her forehead as she gripped the armrest with alarm. Tony's concern had him reaching for her hand and softly saying her name, but when she eventually woke up, she did so abruptly and with a gasp. Her breathing was heavy and her eyes were wide with fear as she sat up and looked around in a panic.

He lifted her hand off the arm rest and gripped it in both of his. ''It's okay,'' he said, sounding far too worried to be soothing.

She muttered something in an unfamiliar tongue, and her desperate eyes finally met his.

''You're okay,'' he assured her softly. He wasn't sure when it had happened, but one of his hands was suddenly on her cheek ''It's just me.''

She lifted her hand to grip his wrist. ''Tony?'' she breathed.

Ziva's thumb stroked along his palm, but he ignored the effect that was having on his heartrate. ''That's me,'' he confirmed, forcing himself to smile. ''The one and only.''

Her breathing slowed, and she even rewarded him with a small smile of her own. ''The one and only,'' she repeated in a whisper, her tone and expression suggesting she was very much relieved to see his face.

He tried not to think about the connotations of that. ''You alright?''

Ziva frowned slightly, before looking down at their conjoined hands resting between them. ''I..'' she said, before swallowing hard. ''I am sorry.'' The hand by her cheek that was holding onto his wrist fell down to her lap, and she turned her whole body away with a carefully guarded look on her face.

His chest stung with disappointment and hurt, but he pushed it down and removed both his arms from her personal space. He only reached back over to offer her the bottle of water. She took it with another small smile that portrayed her gratitude, but nothing else. She unscrewed the cap and took a few healthy swigs, clearly relishing the cool liquid as it cured her of her dry throat. He knew she'd appreciate it; just like he knew she would probably resume her detachment and silence now she was conscious again.

Still, though, he couldn't help but feel concerned. ''Bad dream?''

Her eyes flicked to his knee and back. He could feel the dismissal coming before it even left her mouth. ''It was nothing. I am fine.''

He would ordinarily have left it at that, and simply accepted that she would never truly share everything with him. But this day felt different. He'd put up with her infuriating attitude since the early morning, and through a few different time zones now, and he was starting to get sick of it. How had it come to this? How had their acts of passion and love led to the biggest rift between them in years? It hadn't even been a full day since they woke up in each other's arms, for Christ's sake.

No. He wouldn't stand for this. ''You're clearly not fine,'' he argued.

She sighed heavily. ''Tony, do not do this.''

''Don't do what? Talk to you? God forbid me actually trying to have a conversation with my partner of nine years!''

Her head snapped around and she shot him a look of utter offense. ''You have not spoken to me _all day_!'' she practically yelled. ''Do not accuse me of shutting you out, Tony. I was starting to wonder what the hell I did wrong.''

That took some of the wind out of his sails. ''When?''

''This morning,'' she elaborated.

He frowned hard. ''You didn't do anything wrong.''

She raised her hand in confusion. ''Then what has happened? Was it something I said?''

Clearly—and not for the first time in their relationship—there had been some communication issues. Apparently he held as much of the blame as she did for their lack of interaction. ''Ziva, you didn't say or do anything wrong,'' he assured her. ''I thought you weren't talking to me because we were going home and…well…after what happened the past couple of nights…'' He didn't finish his point because he knew she'd get what he was saying.

And sure enough. ''You thought I would completely ignore you because I could not face my feelings.''

When she put it like that, he had to wince slightly in apology. Because he could hear her disappointment loud and clear. ''I wouldn't put it that bluntly.''

''But I have hit the screw on the head, haven't I?'' she asked.

He wanted to correct her so much that it practically gave him an itch. He managed to resist, though. ''I was more worried that we'd ruined our friendship,'' he told her honestly. ''We never really talk about these kind of things. You know? I guess I'm scared that everything will be kind of awkward between us from now on.''

Her face softened slightly, and she looked away from him with another sigh. ''It will only be awkward if we let it be.''

He nodded at her, relief filling him. ''I don't want to let it be.''

She looked up again and gazed at his face. ''Neither do I.''

He tentatively rested his hand on the arm rest again, and slowly creeped his fingers towards hers. ''We're not going to let this ruin our…us, are we?''

It wasn't rhetorical. He genuinely needed her reassurance that she was as determined not to let their partnership fracture as he was. When he felt her fingers run over his knuckles, he nearly collapsed in relief.

''Of course not, Tony,'' she said softly, and with an expression that made his heart slam. ''Why do you think I would want that?''

He tried to be as gentle as possible with his reasoning. ''I didn't think it was what you wanted, exactly, but,'' he took a chance by threading his fingers through hers. ''You're not exactly known for following your heart.''

She raised her eyebrow, but a smile grew on her face. ''And you are?''

He had to chuckle. ''No. That's one thing we definitely have in common.''

''Romantically dysfunctional,'' Ziva said quietly. ''That was how we described it once.''

The memory of that conversation brought an unexpected warmth to his chest, and the smile they shared over it was as intimate as the ones they'd given each other in Barcelona. ''Yeah,'' he confirmed. ''I think that's a good way of putting it. And I was worried that our combined dysfunctionality would lead to awkwardness and/or loss of friendship.''

Ziva shook her head, but he was happy to see the affection shining in her eyes again. ''This is exactly why we _should_ discuss these things,'' she said wisely.

He nodded and tilted his head in consideration. ''Maybe two Dysfunctionals make a Functional.''

She let out a warm chuckle. ''Maybe.''

A smile formed on his face again, but a few far more serious thoughts crossed his mind as he looked into her familiar eyes. ''I think we need to talk this out, Ziva,'' he suggested seriously.

Her smile fell slightly, but the warmth was still apparent in her eyes. ''What kind of talk?''

''A real, adult, relationshippy talk,'' he clarified.

''I was not aware you were capable of that,'' she teased.

He shrugged, playing along. ''I'm open to trying new things for you.''

A fond smile pulled at her lips. ''Like the paella?''

He winked. ''Exactly.''

She seemed to think about that for a moment or two as her eyes flicked across his chest. He only realised he'd been holding his breath when he felt all the air leave his lungs after she spoke. ''I think that's a good idea.''

He was relieved to hear that, but still found himself giving her a teasing smile. ''Is that the first time you've ever said that to me?''

She rolled her eyes and looked away. ''Tony.''

''Sorry,'' he said quickly.

She looked back at their hands that were still locked together. ''I agree that we need to talk,'' she spoke on calmly. ''About our partnership, and us, and where we go from here. But…''

He felt a brief moment of panic and dread when she paused. What did _but_ mean? He doubted it could precede anything good.

''I do not think we should do it right now,'' she continued. ''While we are stuck on a plane together and still have hours left until we land.''

He supposed that _but_ wasn't so bad, and tried to relax himself and stop doubting everything. ''That's probably a fair point.''

She smiled. ''I am glad we are on the same page.''

He nodded. ''Me too. This talking thing,'' he said, pointing a finger between himself and Ziva. ''We need to do more of this.''

''Yes,'' she agreed, before sending him a soft look of guilt. ''I am sorry for making you worry.''

Another unbreakable wave of affection washed over him as he looked into the depths of her apologetic eyes. He didn't just hope anymore. He was one hundred percent certain that two Dysfunctionals could make a Functional. ''I'm sorry, too.''

He was half expecting her to lean over and kiss him after that. In the end, he had to settle for a hand squeeze and another intimate smile. He wasn't one to complain, though, because he was feeling truly hopeful for the first time that day. Their friendship was safe, at the very least, and he had been assured that he and Ziva wouldn't just try and jump straight back in to normal life without discussing the possibility of a more defined relationship.

They had made it out if the clouds, yes. But they were no longer plummeting towards disaster.

 **...**

By the time McGee pulled in to pick them up from the airport, Tony was happy to observe that himself and Ziva were more or less back to their normal selves. The transition between easy conversation and comfortable silence, the laughter and smiles they could always pull from each other, and the general sense that something just felt _right_ when they were at each other's side. Tony didn't realise how much he'd missed this in the short time he didn't have it.

McGee gave them a friendly smile as he got out to help them with their bags, and Tony was actually rather flattered when it looked like the younger agent was genuinely happy to see them. ''Welcome home, guys,'' he said cheerfully. ''Good flight?''

''Other than the two-hour delay, it was fine, yes,'' Ziva answered as she chucked her bags in the open trunk.

Tony did the same with his bags. ''The flight itself was a little disappointing,'' he told McGee, forcing an amused frown out of him.

''What were you expecting, exactly?''

Before Tony could come up with anything, Ziva jumped in for him. ''He was hoping for better in-flight movies,'' she said with a knowing look.

''Oh,'' McGee drawled as he shut the trunk. ''Should have guessed.''

Tony jumped into the passenger seat without calling shotgun or discussing it with Ziva, but she was already heading for the back seats so he didn't need to feel guilty. McGee climbed in and started the engine, before pulling away in a very careful and probie-like manner. They were onto the freeway before any more words were spoken.

''Are you working today, McGee?'' Ziva asked from the middle seat.

He glanced up at her through his rear-view mirror. ''Yeah,'' he said. ''Well, I was. We were just wrapping up the paper work from the Carson case.''

Tony was hoping that meant his presence would not be needed at the Navy Yard. ''Does the bossman expect us to show up?''

McGee shook his head. ''Not until tomorrow. He wants you both to have a decent night's sleep before you write your reports.''

Tony frowned with surprise. ''That sounds very reasonable of him. Is he sick or something?''

''I think he said something about not wanting to deal with your whining.''

Ziva chuckled from over his shoulder. ''That sounds more like it.''

Tony spun around to glare at her. ''Hey! I don't whine.''

Her eyebrows raised, but an amused smile appeared on her face. ''I did not say it.''

Tony narrowed his eyes and turned back around with his arms folded. ''He'd whine too, if he actually relied on sleep like the rest of us normal humans,'' he muttered bitterly. ''Anyway, just because I speak more than he does doesn't mean I'm always complaining. I mean, _everyone_ talks more than he does. Does that mean they're all complaining about something? Of course it doesn't.''

''Tony,'' Ziva said warningly.

''What?''

''You're ranting,'' McGee said with a sideways glance

Ziva leaned towards the front seats slightly, until Tony could actually feel her words fanning against his neck. ''Some might even call it whining.''

He looked around again, and her close proximity sent a pleasant tingle all the way through his body. The teasing smirk she was showcasing only intensified the feeling. ''My deepest apologies.'' His voice was low and slightly intimate. Clearly his brain was aiming the words solely at her, and the sudden look of want in her eyes told him she liked the close proximity and change of tone, too. ''I haven't had much company today, so I must have been overcompensating.''

She raised her eyebrows at him, but he was relieved to see that she took it in good humour.

''You've been with Ziva all day,'' McGee pointed out.

Tony winked at her, before looking back to McGee. ''Well, it's kind of hard to get a two-way conversation going with someone when they're asleep, McTaxi.''

Ziva's mouth fell open. ''I was not asleep that long!'' she protested with a light slap to his shoulder.

''Most conversations with you are one-way, anyway, Tony,'' McGee added unhelpfully.

''Not with beautiful women,'' Tony argued before he could stop himself. He winced slightly and glanced back at Ziva. Her smile had turned more bashful than teasing now, and he could have sworn there was a slight red tinge to her cheeks. He wanted to let her know that it was his honest opinion, though, even if he didn't really mean to say it. So he gave her one of his small little smiles that never failed to express his sincerity.

Her own smile grew for a second, but she played it like she normally would. ''That is only because these women are too polite to use the falling asleep tactic.''

He scoffed and sent her a bitchy look before turning away again. ''Is it also a 'tactic' to give the whole plane turbulence with your snoring?''

''You did not seem to mind the snoring in Barcelona,'' she pointed out.

He turned back to her. ''Well, that was because— '' He cut himself off before he revealed too much. ''I brought earplugs.''

''Why didn't you bring them onto the plane then? McGee asked.

''They were in my bag,'' Tony lied. ''And I wasn't expecting to be sleeping next to a drunken sailor for seven hours.''

She huffed. ''Well, I wasn't expecting to sit next to a grown man eating three bags of gummy bears—rather loudly, I might add—because he simply _cannot_ go through a plane journey without them.''

That sounded serious on her part, but when he glanced back at her she was still smiling to assure him she wasn't actually mad, and that she was simply playing along in front of their colleague. ''I always do that,'' he reminded her. ''So you definitely should have expected it.''

''And _you_ should have expected me to take a nap after were up so late the night before.''

He smiled at her again, before deciding to drop the pointless argument and turn back around to look out the windshield. What he didn't mention was that he was actually so used to her snoring that he found it almost comforting. But he couldn't say these private things in front of McGee, so bickering and sniping was probably the best alternative. Besides, they both seemed to enjoy it, for some strange reason. Maybe because it was just so easy.

McGee's eyes flicked up to the rear-view mirror, across to Tony, and back to the road with a quick raise of his eyebrows. ''You guys have issues.''

In the corner of his eye, Tony could see Ziva shrug dismissively. He decided to have a similar attitude. ''I whine, she snores,'' he said matter-of-factly. ''Nobody's perfect.''

All that earned him was another sceptical sideways glance from McGee, but no more was said after that. The next words were spoken only when they dropped Ziva off at her place. The farewells were polite and short because they would all be seeing each other the next day, anyway. But, as she left the car, Ziva gently squeezed Tony's shoulder in a way that had him smiling to himself. It gave him that happy tingle again, and he felt even more hopeful about their future—even if it was only their _near_ future—than he had done before.

 **...**

Tony spent the rest of the day on his couch, either munching on pizza or snoozing. It wasn't exactly productive, but he didn't really mind. He spent enough of his life trying to be productive and getting work done, so a bit of down time was both welcome and needed after his two transatlantic flights in three days. Movies were the best medicine, and he always found the company of Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn comforting after such a trip. But tonight it didn't really feel like it was enough. No matter how chilled he was, he couldn't fully find relaxation or comfort. Something was missing.

It didn't take many attempts to guess what it was.

 _Who_ it was.

He was just about to get up and grab a beer from the fridge when his cell phone started buzzing. The name on the screen made his stomach flip. _Speak of the devil._

He answered the call with a ''Shalom.''

A low chuckle greeted him. ''Tony.''

''Wasn't expecting a call from you at this hour,'' he said as he leaned back against the couch cushions with a smile.

He could feel her hesitation. ''I just wanted to…''

Now he could _hear_ her hesitation. ''To what? Hear my voice?''

Another chuckle. ''To check in on you,'' she corrected.

He suspected she pulled the reason out of her ass. He had a gut feeling that she was having similar feelings to the ones he'd been having all evening. After spending so much time in each other's company, being on their own didn't really feel right.

''Well, I'm as right as rain,'' he told her lightly. ''How about you, sleeping beauty?''

He suspected that nickname earned him an eye roll. ''I am quite tired,'' she said seriously. ''But, for some reason, I am finding it hard to relax.''

His heart skipped a beat at her tone. She'd shifted to quiet and intimate. And maybe she really did just want to hear his voice, and maybe that was why his stomach was suddenly fluttering like a nervous teenager's. He couldn't really tease her about it, though, because he hadn't realised how much he needed to hear _her_ voice until he answered the phone. God, he wished she was with him. This had to mean something, right?

''I am not sure that makes sense,'' she added unsurely.

He swallowed. ''No,'' he said a little brokenly. ''No, it makes perfect sense.''

''I cannot stop thinking about Barcelona.'' Her voice struck him as a little shy.

She wasn't the only one stuck in the memories of that place. ''Which part?''

He could tell she was smiling. ''All of it.''

''Even my airport crankiness?''

She snorted. ''That part I am trying to forget.'' He heard a slight shuffle over the line, and half-wondered what she was up to—or if she was even at home—but she was talking again before he could ask. ''I was thinking about the club, actually.''

''Oh yeah?''

She sighed. ''That dance.''

That stole his breath for a second. _That dance_. ''We're starting to make a habit of that when we go on assignment.'' He tried to sound like he was teasing, but it ended up coming out with a strong trace of fondness and affection.

There was a pause and a heavy breath. ''Yes.''

His smile grew as he dropped his head back to stare up at the ceiling. ''I can't say it's a bad habit.''

''What did you mean?''

He frowned, suddenly not following. ''About it not being a bad habit?''

''No,'' she said with a hint of amusement. ''When you told me that you needed me.''

Her voice was even quieter now, and his breath was swiftly stolen again as his throat grew impossibly tight all of a sudden. He remembered saying that, and he also remembered it slipping out as if it could have meant nothing. But it was heartfelt. And it _definitely_ meant something. It meant everything, in fact, and he had a strong feeling she sensed that at the time. Clearly, his words continued to effect her now just as much as it did then.

It didn't really feel right to be discussing this over the phone, though.

Still, he answered her honestly. ''You know what I meant.''

Now it was her breath that caught, but he could tell that he was just confirming what she already suspected. It was a good ten seconds before she spoke again. ''Tony, I…''

It was the incomplete sentence he'd heard too many times, and he'd never wanted to hear the rest of it as much as he did then. But she never finished it—not in the way she was planning to, anyway. ''I just wanted to check in,'' she repeated.

''You've said that already.''

He could hear her smiling again. ''I will see you…later. Yes?''

Despite his slight disappoint, he still found himself smiling intimately. ''I look forward to it, Ziva.''

There was another familiar and distinctive chuckle before she hung up. His smile didn't fall until he remembered that he still remained beerless. He quickly moved to rectify that, getting up off his couch and heading into the kitchen. The fridge was disappointingly empty—as always—but he did manage to retrieve a long-neck and a leftover slice of pizza from earlier. When he settled back down in front of some NBA highlights, he had successfully distracted himself from the lack of Ziva.

It was about twenty minutes later when he heard a knock at his door.

The butterflies in his stomach told him who it was before he even got up to open it. One look through the peephole proved them right. One look at her somewhat anxious face made his heartrate spike. One hand opened the latch, one hand twisted the handle. One second of them staring into each other's eyes, and it seemed like the rest of the world had pressed pause.

''Hey,'' he greeted, failing to keep the surprise out of his tone. He didn't fail to let her know how glad he was to see her, though.

She kept staring at him for a few more seconds, and then swallowed hard. When she spoke, her voice was sure, but still struck him as vulnerable. ''I need you, too.''

His face melted, and her words were enough to make him to reach out for her.

She practically through herself at him, and they stumbled back into his apartment as their mouths crashed together. The explosion of lust and passion was stronger and louder than ever before, and Tony wasn't even sure they got the front door closed again before he got her to the bedroom. A trail of clothes ended up being left across the whole apartment, from the entryway all the way to the bed where Tony showed Ziva just how much he needed her. She returned the message with equal enthusiasm, and everything seemed right in the world again.

This was the third night in a row that this had happened, but Tony was already stupendously, hopelessly, desperately addicted to her. To _them._

They could be four thousand miles away from home or right here in his apartment. He didn't give a damn anymore. If her words and actions were anything to go by, she felt exactly the same way. And, really, it didn't matter what other complications arose. It was simple. They needed each other. Maybe they even loved each other. Whichever way he chose to describe it, Tony could see a very bright future.

* * *

 **I know the first two chapters were quite popular, so I hope this lived up to them (at least a wee bit). Thanks for reading and reviewing as always**


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